by Claudy Conn
“We will take ’em by surprise now …”
“Take who by surprise …?” Jimmy regarded his long-time and dearest friend as though he had lost his mind.
“I know you haven’t taken me seriously, but … the hairs at the back of my neck don’t lie, Jimmy. Someone is following us …”
Jimmy eyed him suspiciously. “Art, never say you made us go the wrong way on purpose just to prove this theory of yours?”
“No, no never thought of it. Not needle-witted like you, but seems to be … expedient.”
*
It was late in the afternoon when Stanton opened the door and Omsbury stood at the threshold, top hat cocked over his graying locks and his greatcoat opened to display his dark superfine beneath. His Hessians gleamed black, and his ‘look’ suggested superiority. Jewels, who had been crossing the central hall when the front door opened, was moved to revulsion.
“What, my lord, are you doing here so late in the day?” she asked, unconcerned with polite pretense.
“I should like a word with you,” he said softly, ignoring the snub.
“I am sorry to advise you that you have made the trip for naught as I don’t have a moment to spare just now …” She started to give him her back.
“Ah, but I think you don’t want what I have to say delivered to your aunt via servant,” he said with the hint of a warning.
She turned away from him again, saying over her shoulder, “I have no notion what you are talking about …” She felt a fear trickle through her body as she spoke. What was he up to?
“I will then go over your head, but I had hoped to please you and keep this between us,” he said with something of a sneer.
She wanted to slap his face and say, ‘Right then, Omsbury … do your worst, and we shall see!’ However, she maintained control over herself and held back those words, saying instead, “I am certain it is nothing my aunt cannot know.”
“Fine, I am sorry for it—I thought I could advise you of what I have just learned and perhaps save your brother some embarrassment.”
She turned back to him. He must be bluffing—yet, something inside her gut told her that he had something on Jimmy. In fact, he looked as though he were bursting with news—just the kind of news that would most certainly distress her aunt, and she had no wish to do that.
She put up her chin and said, “Very well, then … a moment …,” and led him to the morning room, which thankfully she found empty. She made a show of leaving the door wide open.
She turned, and as he looked as though he were about to get comfortable in a winged chair she put up her chin and said softly, “At the risk of being rude … I cannot ask you to sit. Simply say whatever it is you have to say …”
He was on her in the flash of a moment, obviously outraged enough to forget himself. He grabbed her arms. “When you are mine, Jewels … you will not speak to me thusly.”
So saying he shook her hard enough to rattle her brain. She was momentarily in shock, but her temper came to save her. She stomped on his foot and then kicked him in the calf, and he bent over with a wail of pain.
“You will pay for this, little bitch—see if you don’t … for I will break you, damn I will and enjoy every minute of it!” he hissed at her.
Stanton, who had obviously remained nearby, came running in. “Miss Jewelene?”
“Show Lord Omsbury out …” She gave his lordship a killer look and said in a low, hard tone, “If ever you try and touch me again, in any manner—it is you that shall break … I promise you.”
“And your brother? I now believe him a bigger fool than you. As it happens he has put you now in even greater debt. He has stooped so low as to visit a moneylender. Tell me, miss, how will that serve to end your problems—and who will help you out of them?” He glared at her. “No one can, except I.” Still outraged, he pointed a finger at her. “You will come begging to me to save you from debtors’ prison … see if you don’t!”
“How dare you … !” Jewelene was seething, but her heart was contracting with fear. If Jimmy had gone to a moneylender, then they were in severe and everlasting trouble. How else would he obtain the money for the entrance fee? She should have guessed, but how could she? The thought had never entered her head! It was unthinkable.
This would put an end to them. No one ever got out from the moneylenders. “Get out, Omsbury, and know this—I will not under any circumstances admit you to Henshaw House again, so do not come back here—ever!”
“We shall see, woman … we shall see,” he said ominously before he turned his back and stomped off.
*
It was nearly dusk when Jimmy and Arthur had made some headway backtracking towards Swindon. The sun was vanishing quickly, and already shadows were being cast along the edge of the woods. Sir James remarked unhappily, “Don’t like this…”
A breeze came up, and Jimmy began to feel ill at ease himself. However, not being given to fanciful notions, he shrugged it off and said to his friend, “Damn, if you haven’t gotten me spooked as well.”
Art wasn’t listening to him though. He had heard something—something that made him bring his reins in and his horse to a complete halt.
Sir James turned around and eyed him, as he and his horse had plodded on. “What in thunder are you doing now?”
“Don’t you hear it?”
“Yes.” Jimmy shrugged. “No doubt a rider approaches … nothing more.”
But no one appeared. Jimmy’s hand moved to his horse pistol sheathed at the back of his saddle. “Right then …” he whispered to his friend. “ … ready?”
They waited, but that wait was in vain as no one appeared. And then they heard the unmistakable sound of a horse’s whinny—not one horse, but two. They eyed one another doubtfully.
“I don’t like this, Jimmy …”
“No, nor I …”
“We are not too far from the posting house listed in the guide—what say you we make tracks there right now and put up for the night?” Arthur suggested and added, “No sense trying to stand and fight—we can’t be certain how many highwaymen there are.”
“Aye … agreed.”
A moment later they had spurred their horses forward, leaving dust behind them.
Off the road, concealed by a spray of evergreens, two grizzled and weather-beaten men, men who could be bought, were crouched on their knees, but they weren’t spying at that moment.
Each of these men looked at death straight on. The barrel of a gun—one for each of them—was all that they could see and understand. One of these men pleaded, “Please, sir … we was only doing whot we were told …”
“And what were you told to do?”
That same man answered because the man beside him had been reduced to blubbering something about having needed the money and children to feed. He grimaced at his cohort and answered feebly, “We … we ’ad little choice … we works for our living, we does and—”
“I’ll ask one more time,” the darkly clad, dust-covered gentleman interjected, “and if you don’t answer me to my satisfaction, I will save King, Regent, and Country the time and trouble of executing you—by doing it myself.”
“Ye can’t shoot us in cold blood?”
“Oh, but I can, and I will, and I have no fear of reprisal—you appear to be no more than the worst of common highwaymen. There is no doubt I would be honored for removing a dangerous nuisance from the road. Now speak you and live to see another day.”
“It was his lordship, it was …” Jenkins said. “I be no more than his groom, but he told me to ’ire someone and for us to follow young Henshaw. We sent him word that Henshaw visited the tens, but he told us to start with to make certain one way or another that we didn’t let young Henshaw pay the entrance fee for Derby … no matter what we had to do to stop him.”
“By his lordship, you mean Lord Omsbury?”
“Aye, aye, but he’ll kill me if he knows that I spoke of it to anyone …”
“Then you mus
t obviously not return to the Isle but seek employment elsewhere. I shall make it easy for you.” The tall Corinthian threw them a leather pouch. “Take this purse, and make certain he doesn’t find you.” A warning glittered in the gaze he cast upon them. “Don’t return to the Isle of Wight, for if you do and he doesn’t kill you, I will.”
The two men nodded their agreement in vigorous style, and the Corinthian bade them be off. Well, well, he thought, this was turning out to be not only an ugly business, but one that was damned threatening as well!
*
Elizabeth was just returning from her afternoon walk when Omsbury came storming out of the house—still seething from his encounter with Jewelene. He stopped, stared hard at her, and said, “You seem a woman of sense … why don’t you try and talk to your cousin and make her see that a marriage with me is what will save her and her family?”
“I am certain, my lord, that it would not do anything of the kind, and therefore I cannot have such a talk with her,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“No? What, do you think Ben Clay will save this family? Is that who she is holding out for? It won’t serve—for Clay has eyes for only one woman, a tart of a Frenchwoman who runs his faro table! So even if she thinks Ben can come up with the money to save his precious Silver Heart, he belongs not to her but to Babette!”
Elizabeth’s hand went involuntarily to her heart. It wasn’t true. What a horrid man this Omsbury was, to be sure. It couldn’t be true. Why would he say such a thing to her? He didn’t even know that she … that she and Ben …
He seemed satisfied with her reaction, mumbled something she couldn’t hear, and stomped off to get his horse, which was tethered at the nearby hitching post.
She watched him go and felt as though the beautiful blue sky had suddenly turned black. Lizzie’s heart took a beating, and her mind could not find the logic to save it. He couldn’t have made all that up, could he? There must be a Babette. There must be fire where there was smoke.
She turned from him, squared her shoulders, and then all the strength she was trying to call upon to save her breaking heart vanished. A sob escaped her, and with her fist to her lips, she ran into the house and up the stairs.
*
Some hours later, Omsbury sat meditatively in his library wing chair. From where he sat he had a majestic view of his rear courtyard and the sea beyond. He was by nature a town fellow, given to excesses, and though he had a rather strong feeling for his heritage, he was too selfish to allow honor to stand in the way of what he wanted. Honor had become an abstract. He was rich, and therefore he thought himself above such philosophies.
Matters were not running smoothly, and in fact, had taken a very sharp turn for the worse. Somehow, instead of enthralling Jewelene with his many charms, he had gained her very obvious dislike. This was something unexpected. Women were forever after him. He was titled, he was wealthy, and he knew himself to be a handsome man.
What then had gone wrong? This was not how he had wanted to win her. However, he meant to have her. He had decided some months ago that she had to be his. Initially he had thought he could easily win her over. All that was no longer on the table.
He would have to resort to other means. Jenkins should have returned by now with the news that he had relieved James Henshaw of the money he had borrowed from the moneylender. He had instructed his man to even kill the lad, if no other method presented itself. He didn’t need her brother forever looking over their shoulders when Jewelene was his.
If Jimmy lived through the encounter, at the very least he would be relieved of his funds. They would no longer be in a position to enter their horse, and they would owe principal and interest beyond their ability to pay. He would have them right where he wanted them both, for no matter what she threatened he knew Jewelene would never allow her brother to be taken off to debtors’ prison.
Jewelene was his chosen bride. She would bear his name and his children, and he would teach her to love him. What she needed was taming. She had been allowed to run amuck for too long.
Taming, that was the ticket, and he was just the man to do it, one way or another—and unlike in The Taming of the Shrew, he did not mean to confuse her into submission by telling her the moon was the sun. He meant to do it quickly, with a swift, hard hand, and where her bruises would not show …
Fourteen
BEN CLAY ASKED first for Jewelene and then added hesitatingly, “ … and Miss Elizabeth?”
“Miss Jewelene has gone out for a walk, but Miss Elizabeth is in the library …”
“I know the way, Stanton, thank you.” Ben smiled broadly, pleased to think he might have a few moments alone with the woman of his dreams.
What he found there was sweet Elizabeth fretting over a handkerchief as she paced to and fro near the hearth.
“What is it?” he said, going towards her.
“Don’t come near me …” was the response that he received.
He stood very still and frowned. “What is it, my love?”
“Oh do not—please do not play such games with me. It is cruel, and it is beneath you.”
He went to her then, but she scurried away, wagging a finger, and said, “I know … I know all about you and some French tart at your club …”
He pulled himself erect. He was presently in a predicament. He did not know how she came by her information, but there was little he could do without betraying Jewelene’s secret. He said, however, “Whatever you have heard is simply not true.”
“It is no use lying to me … I know … I even know she is called Babette. Apparently everyone knows that you and she … are … I … I want you to leave me alone.”
“It grieves me that you would think so ill of me as to believe I would court you while involved with another. It in fact, hurts me to the quick. I do not lie to you when I say that there is no one but you in my mind, my heart, my life—”
“How can I believe you …?” she cut in fretfully. “She works for you, does she not?”
“In a manner of speaking …” he said evasively.
He knew that he did not sound convincing. Her lashes flickered, and sadness filled her eyes as she challenged him, asking, “Very well then, what if I were to ask Jimmy about this Babette—would he say that you and she are … lovers?”
“How should I know what that pup would say?” As soon as the words were out, he knew it was the wrong answer.
A vase flew across the room and hit the wall. He was shocked, and he could see that Elizabeth had surprised herself. He had not hitherto believed she was capable of such passion. He was both upset and intrigued.
“Out … I can’t bear to look at you,” she said, sobbing.
He pulled himself erect, now no longer intrigued but hurt. “I was obviously mistaken—I thought you knew me … I had hoped you cared for me.” He turned and left the house in somewhat of a daze.
*
Jewelene, a short distance away and on horseback, witnessed his departure. She waved but was unable to catch his eye. After she put away her horse, she entered the house and peeked in at the library. There she found Lizzie in her mother’s arms and thought perhaps her cousin had been trying to convince her of Ben’s worth.
She sighed and made her way to the kitchen, downed two strawberry tarts fresh from the oven, and thought of Ryker with a longing she could not banish. She almost reached for another tart but thought better of it and took herself out once again for another walk before dark. Life, she had decided, was crumbling into ruins.
Jewelene walked without really seeing very much around herself. Her mind was a mess of emotion. This could not go on. She had to find a way of getting control of herself and chase away the blue devils threatening her composure.
She saw that she had walked back towards the stables and stood a moment watching their groom Jonas put Lightning through his paces.
Bleakness was her word of the moment, and she told herself she had to shake it. She had to get control over her feelings. She was in l
ove with a man who couldn’t possibly love her—didn’t even know who she really was and would be shocked to find out all the terrible things she had done. Babette was top on the list. And knowing, believing there were too many obstacles to overcome, she still hoped … because she loved him.
She loved him, and somehow, even though she had been Babette and he had flirted outrageously with her, something in her gut told her he was not a libertine. She sighed to think about it, telling herself she was an idiot, for actions were the proof—weren’t they?
The sound of an approaching rider brought her head up, and she shaded her eyes against the sun as she scanned the long drive. Was that her heart thumping as she hoped against hope? Was that her body trembling because she knew who it was without having to see his face? She could tell by the set of his broad shoulders and the manner in which he held himself. It was … it was Ryker.
She watched his approach and against her best efforts to be aloof, she felt the excitement carry blood through her veins and bring her to life. She felt her throat catch. She wanted to run to him …
What was he wearing? Buckskins? He must have bought them in Yarmouth, for she was fairly certain they had not been a part of the wardrobe he had brought with him. She laughed to herself. Country life was taking its toll on his London fashion, and oh, he looked good in the rugged clothing! He wore no hat, and his long, dark blonde hair blew about his handsome face. She quivered with anticipation.
Faith, but she just wanted to run into his arms, collapse there, and beg him to take care of her. She managed somehow to control herself, but suddenly he was jumping nimbly off his horse, dropping his reins, and taking long, hard strides towards her.
Her heart skipped and stopped and skipped again. Suddenly the sky was bluer than she could ever remember it being. The spring wisteria’s scent was intoxicating, and an excitement thrilled her from her toes to the top of her tawny head of long, waving curls. She was in a simple day gown of yellow muslin, and she hurriedly gave herself a once over for wrinkles, smoothing out the A-line of the skirt of her gown as she prepared the kind of smile she wished to give Ryker.